


Cheating

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, Lapdance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock observes and Bones benefits from Jim’s love of old music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PockyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockyGhost/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for pockyghost’s “kirk giving a goofy lapdance while the song [Cheerleader by OMI] was playing in the background” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He rephrases but scolds, not for the first time, “It would have been considerably more time-efficient if we had used the transporter.”

“Drop it, pointy,” McCoy grumbles from the backseat. As Spock’s had this conversation one too many times before, he doesn’t bother reprimanding the doctor’s nonsensical aversion to modern technology.

Jim, so often in the middle ground, replies airily, “But if we’d done that, we wouldn’t get to drive this awesome vintage car.” The vehicle they’re in, unsafely uncovered on the top with four wheels and an unhealthy exhaust system, isn’t something Spock takes any pleasure in. But Jim runs his hands over the ‘dashboard’ for the fifth time, muttering appreciatively, “Sulu’d kill to get in this thing.” The first time Spock heard that murderous phrase, he’d been appalled, but Jim’s used it so much on this makeshift vacation that Spock’s become immune.

He reiterates instead, “I still find it highly unlikely that we are permitted to park on the beach.” Even as he says it, two Andorians have to detour their jog around the car, carrying on down the sand right after. There’re a few meters between the waterline and the car, but they’re certainly on more sand than pavement, and he doesn’t imagine pulling the wheels out again will be easy. Jim waves it off like it’s all part of the ‘experience’. 

But Jim does promise, “The minute we get Uhura’s call, we’ll move. But until Scotty’s fixed the shuttle, we may as well enjoy our shore leave.” Again, Spock opts not to mention the many other ways they could easily return to their ship. He should’ve known when he learned of the Mrennenimians’ love for Terran culture that his shipmates wouldn’t be easy to recall.

McCoy notes the correlation first, chirping over the warm air and gentle breeze, “If they’re going to play Earth music, they should at least play the good stuff, instead of this ancient club music.”

“I love club music!” Jim laughs, like it’s a personal affront, but he can never stay mad at his doctor long enough to get a sentence out with true offense. When he looks back over his shoulder to where McCoy’s feet are up against the backs of their seats, the bright sun slides off Jim’s sunglasses and makes Spock blink for a second longer than usual. “And I love this song; it’s my jam!”

Spock looks at him, eyebrows knit in his confusion, though neither notice to explain to him. Jim’s already getting out of the driver’s seat, and Spock asks as Jim opens McCoy’s back door, “How does one make fruit spread out of music?”

Jim just laughs, and McCoy groans. A second later, Jim’s climbing onto the backseat, right over where McCoy sits. Neither answers Spock, and Jim tells McCoy instead, “You’ll like this kind of music when you know what it’s for.” Spock has to crane his neck to watch, until he eventually unclips his seatbelt and maneuvers around for a better view, telling himself he’s just respectfully observing the culture of his closest colleagues. 

Jim, of course, makes everything complicated. He straddles McCoy’s lap, hands falling to McCoy’s shoulders, whose arms are spread out along the backseat. Jim moves on the next beat of the song, his hips swinging forward and his stomach rolling with it, chest arching out to fall on the beat right after. His hips grind in a slow circle against McCoy’s, his thighs sliding along McCoy’s, his shoulders swaying with the steady rhythm. The music’s loud but distant, blaring from the nearest building: a small, white hut with a yellow thatched roof and windows through which Mrennenimians serve their clientele various foods and drinks. A few people are dancing on the beach, others out in the water, some dancing to the music, but none as gracefully as Jim. There’s a playful smile on his face, but he does this with ease and talent like he does most things. He tells McCoy in a teasing purr, “The lyrics fit us, too; you’re such a great cheerleader for me.”

McCoy rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint red tint to his cheeks that Spock can understand. At first, he doesn’t understand why Jim would do this: dancing in someone’s lap seems highly inadvisable. But Jim’s focus is on his hips, dragging himself along McCoy’s body, and Spock’s spent enough time with humans to discern the true intent. Jim confirms it by sliding his hands down McCoy’s chest and departing to the hem of his own shirt, short-sleeved and bright yellow to match the trip. He starts to roll the flimsy fabric up his body, revealing smooth, creamy skin to Spock’s level gaze. McCoy’s is heated, the _emotion_ pushing through, difficult for Spock to watch. Jim is difficult to watch. The way he gyrates himself against his CMO is _shameful_ , worse when he bunches his shirt up and leaves it stretched across his chest, all gathered under his armpits. Spock’s at just the right angle to see one pink, pebbled nipple, perked as Jim arches forward, the rest of his taut muscles flexing with his movement. Then Jim lifts his arms and threads his fingers back into his hair, tilting his head back to hum a couple bars. Spock’s body heat is spiking, and the little Sarek-sounding voice in the back of his mind urges him to turn around. But neither of them are looking at him, and he can get away with _watching_ , and Jim’s so very _beautiful_ in the golden sunlight that it would seem wasteful to shun his art.

When the song ends, Jim stops, dropping his hands again to roll his shirt back into place. The common displeasure has evaporated from McCoy’s face, replaced instead with a determined, hungry stare. Jim reaches for the door of the car like he’ll get out again, but McCoy’s hands fly to Jim’s hips, and he digs hard into them to hold Jim in place. McCoy grunts, “Let’s see what song comes on next.” Jim just laughs.

Spock’s communicator rescues him. Its beep draws his attention back to the ‘glove’ compartment, and he pulls it open to answer Uhura’s hail: “ _Shuttle’s done. You boys ready?_ ”

Over Spock’s shoulder, Jim calls, “No, not really,” stirring Spock’s memory of the song’s Terran words. Only because he doesn’t want a comment on the green blood likely filling his cheeks, Spock doesn’t urge Jim and McCoy’s attention. 

Jim gets back into the driver’s seat anyway, promising McCoy, “I have the album anyway.”


End file.
